Misunderstood
by Kender Bard
Summary: Don't judge the guy at first glance... R&R and please, no flames.


Misunderstood  
  
By Squirtel the Squirtle  
  
A/N: I see all sorts of Tracey bashing fics and things, but. Why? Just cause he's a Pokemon Watcher? Or. Do people just. Misunderstand?  
  
Tracey stepped out into the sunshine and yawned. While stretching, he thought eagerly of all the things to look forward to. Then had to quickly stop. There wasn't much. Let's see, making breakfast, drawing, watching Ash win battles, watching Team Rocket make idiots of themselves again, more drawing, dinner, and then. The nighttime stargazing. An hour or more of just staring up at the sky.  
  
"Why can't I have an adventure sometime?" he thought to himself, but he knew the answer already for it was a question he had asked himself often. "It takes the heart of a leader, and you just don't have it Tracey."  
  
He knelt down by his bag and pulled out a few items for breakfast. He was beginning to remember his past again. He hated it.  
  
He'd grown up not knowing what he really wanted to do. He could be a trainer, a researcher, or maybe a nurses' aide. But the problem was, he just couldn't seem to get close enough to Pokemon. It didn't matter what he did, he just wanted to be around Pokemon. He wanted be able to hold one, or at least look at one for a long amount of time.  
  
Of course, his parents weren't too much help. At first they tried to be sympathetic, and bought him a Pokemon or two, but they kept running away. He couldn't understand it, no one could really. Perhaps he was just too eager to be around Pokemon, but it broke his heart knowing he'd never get to be around them long enough to learn about them. Oh sure, he read the books, but it wasn't the same.  
  
"I need to get a good look," He thought. "Just good enough. That way I could understand, and maybe see what I'm doing wrong."  
  
One day, before he was even eleven, his mother took him to see a very special person.  
  
"Mom, who are we going to see?" young Tracey asked, following his mother into the local Pokemon Center.  
  
"Tracey, you've met Pokemon trainers, breeders, researchers, and who knows who else, but there's one person you've haven't met," she laughed quietly. "A Pokemon Watcher."  
  
Tracey scrunched up his nose and replied, "Pokemon Watcher? What's that? It sounds dumb."  
  
"Now Tracy, don't judge something or someone until you get to know him," her mother chastised him gently. "Here we are."  
  
Tracey was led to a corner of the center to be greeted by a man in his forties. With him, he carried a sketchbook in his hands and a pencil, well sharpened, was poised behind his ear. His alert eyes gazed into Tracey's young ones. He smiled softly and spoke gently.  
  
"Hello there, young man," he said. "Who might you be?"  
  
"This is Tracey Sketchit," his mother introduced him. "I'm his mother, Camilla Sketchit."  
  
"Nice to meet you, Tracey and Camilla," the Pokemon Watcher replied. Tracey just hid behind his mother and stared. What was a Pokemon Watcher's job?  
  
"Would you be willing to show Tracey what you do for a living?" Camilla requested. The Pokemon Watcher nodded, eager to show of his possessions and reached into his bag to pull out a sketchbook.  
  
Tracey edged a bit closer to get a look. The watcher opened up to reveal brilliant sketches of Pokemon that seemed almost like a photo. Tracey gaped.  
  
"They seem so real," Tracey whispered, staring happily at the Pokemon.  
  
"They are real, Tracey," the watcher replied. "Every Pokemon I sketch is alive, well, and real. It gives you a real feel for your drawings."  
  
"Do the Pokemon run away from you?" inquired Tracey. The Pokemon watcher laughed heartily.  
  
"Only if I get too close," he replied softly. "A Pokemon watcher has to keep his or her distance and sketch from afar, but it's still nice and peaceful just to watch them while sketching."  
  
"Wow," Tracey murmured. Camilla's eyes sparked of hope. Was this his destiny? That night she had went out and bought him a sketchbook, pencils, and binoculars.  
  
The next day, Tracey went out in search of a Pokemon for his first sketch. First, he found a Rattata, and tried to get close enough to sketch it. The Rattata ran away - he'd gotten too close. Sighing, he found a Pidgey. This time, he stayed low to the ground and used his binoculars. It worked! He was able to make a halfway decent sketch of the Pidgey! And it felt so wonderful, just lying there watching it peck cheerfully at the ground. Then he went off and sketched three more Pokemon, each time observing how peaceful they were.  
  
Then the realization of what he'd been doing wrong hit him - he'd been disturbing their happiness. He gazed at his sketches again and sighed. If he were them, he wouldn't want some clumsy ten year old bothering him either. So day after day, he worked on being stealthy and quiet. Soon his sketches got more and more detail. He was finally happy.  
  
Tracey finished breakfast, and his memories. Perhaps, there was something to look forward to. Sure, he wasn't going to be a great leader in a Pokemon research. He wasn't going to be the master of Pokemon, that's for sure. He probably would never be a trainer, although he was very glad to have Marril and Venonat with him. He was lucky to have them - they stumbled upon his camping, sick and hurt, and he healed them back to health. They stayed with him ever since.  
  
"So what's there to look forward to in life?" he wondered, biting his lower lip a moment. "Oh, I know."  
  
"I have my friends, my happiness, my Pokemon, and my sketches. What I have to look forward to are all of those, and also, my sketches." He remembered being sneered at, as a child. The children ridiculed him with taunts of "what good are you?" and "I'd rather have the real thing, not a stupid picture of it.". He'd show them. He'd prove to them all that a picture is truly worth a thousand words - and thoughts. He pulled out a sketch and admired it lovingly. There's nothing wrong with being a Pokemon watcher. It was just preparation, a deeper learning, of how to be a trainer. That day may come, or not. Until then, he'd keep sketching, and keep learning about all the wonders around him until he can rise up and finally achieve something great. 


End file.
